If we were zombies I promise you that I would love you for your brain
Golfers in the rain with travel mugs of coffee, like this is their job.
I come to you, love, like a zombie in your thrall, hungry for your brains.
stubbed-out cigarette moldering wet in the sink on the Paris train
Woman in burqa Pushing her grocery cart Texting on her phone
Squirrels chasing each Other up and around trees Like on Benny Hill
sleeping puppy feet pressed against my human toes twitch in doggish dreams
Snowflakes ride updrafts in Brownian reels outside my twelfth-floor window.
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